the boy who had green hair (and sweaters) {HAH, 550, your 450 can suck it}

I went on a walk armed with a cigarette and an Ipod Nano. The Ipod started spitting tunes, and the cigarette started smoking. A song off the first Taproot album came on, and it was one of those songs I like so much because they have cheesy overdramatic pauses. So the Taproot cuts out completely as I'm taking a drag, and I don't notice or think about it, and exactly as I exhale, the drums hit like a gorilla pounding with both fists on my skull. I'm walking down the middle of a dimly lit street in a hooded sweatshirt, and this is the hugest cloud of smoke I've ever emitted, and it starts curling and twirling symmetrically, and blocks out the whole sky, and my entire field of vision, with patterns, like the Spiralator. It was an Eminem/Korn music video or something. I continued to attempt to endow my cigarette smoking with a musical quality, resulting in a record breaking cigarette smoking time and a mild cough. I reached the Deals', and saw a huge two story house where there had been a small cabin the last time I had checked. This confused me not a little. Said confusion was not aided by the encounter with a mailbox shaped like a ginormous bass (the fish), whose mouth was the place where you stuffed the mail. Ate multiple ice cream sandwiches, pissed in the lake (after recognizing the upcoming dock rather belatedly and narrowly adjusting so as not to walk directly into the lake), watched some stars and floodlights and lightning, some Arrested Development, and to sleep. This was so much fun, I had to try again the following night. Similar results. Replace ice cream sangwiches with handfuls of macaroni salad, taken directly from the bowl in the refrigerator in the garage. This was done because of lack of any other food, and without utensils, for fear of entering the house and waking the people I don't like to wear green sweaters with (my family). Handfuls of macaroni are difficult to consume. Little individual macaronis squelch and suirt out, all over the floor. Hands are covered in thick macaroni goop residue. I attempt to pick up a blue cylinder and it flies out like one of those green tube snake things that are filled with jelly stuff and slide out of your hands when you try to grab them. There are no available napkins, and everything I touch on my way back to the bunkhouse is coated with macaroni juice. This is not exactly a low profile. This time instead of Taproot-Jay Zizzle, Kings of Leon and a love song about dancing in Lansing, MI. Pimp my Ride greets me with open arms, and the best episode of all time is on. Some chick really likes snakes. I immediately realize what this means (if you like S'mores X-zibit installs a fire pit in your car, if you like WMDs he puts in a nuke factory) - so if this chick likes snakes, she gonna get some snakes! This idea incapacitates me for several minutes. She gets a terrarium, with a 2 inch TV built into a rock, for her snake's viewing pleasure. This lake isn't so bad. I think I'll frequent it, and someday maybe even get in it.